Son of a Machine
by Comet Stryke
Summary: After an unexpected run in with a very young owl in the forests of Russia, Sly finds himself internally struggling with a lot conflicting problems. When he takes the child avian in under his wing, he learns how to deal with the unfamiliar feeling of fear, paranoia, and guilt mixed with paternal instinct as he becomes the second father figure to the orphan he mistakenly created.
1. Chapter 1

"Well, that was too easy!"

"You say that Sly, but you're still not out of the woods yet. Literally."

A sudden bellow at the end of the hall and the appearance of a burly lackey makes me screech to a stop on the stone floor. I smirked and backed up, pulling out my cane and glancing behind to see if anyone tried to blindside me. Soon more guys appeared, completely blocking that hallway of the castle.

"So boys, you come to put me out of commission?" I casually asked, twirling my cane in my hand, "Or you come to get your boss's prized possession? Or maybe offer me a free plate of pasta from Venice? The pasta sauce on it is _delicious_."

On cue, a brown bear charged wildly snarling down the hallway on three limbs, pointing his spear at me to run me right through. It always happens—one knuckle head tries to make a quick and easy finish on me. 'Course, I always come prepared. I snorted and fold my arms, standing tall.

"I've got you, you cocky punk!" The bear bellowed, raisng his weapon up—then when he was only five feet away a trap door suddenly opens up right underneath him. He paused in midair, his eyes widened in shock. I tsked and shook my head at him.

"I guess you forgot about the trap doors riddled on every floor, marked by a slightly off scale color than the rest of the floor?" I asked conversationally as I inspected my nails, and he nodded slowly. I waved goodbye at him as he broke his stationary midair state and fell flailing and screaming like mad, down two stories. I winced when I heard him land painfully and went to the hole, "You're gonna need some crutches after that, pal!"

I looked up just in time to see, no,_ hear_ the other grunts rampaging down the hall. I took a moment to crack up; don't people ever learn the more noise you make, the more mistakes you'll cause? One mistake included them failing to realize that there was a nearby window, which I promptly hopped into and jumped, deploying my parachute. I laughed again as I floated away, hearing them crowding around the window yelling and screaming at me in anger. Oh, I just loved shock value.

"Everything all right?" Bentley asked me.

"Yeah, I'm good." I said, scanning the landscape, which included forest, mountains, and more forest. "I played the game their own court, and they still lost."

"Well, head on back quickly. We're waiting by the Kyys Timirbit lake," Bentley told me, "And let me just apologize for lack of a better transportation method, I know it took you awhile to get to Saint Marmot's castle, so hurry before it gets dark."

"Rodger that. And hey, don't worry, it's alright. I'll be there in a few." I pulled out my Binocucom , zooming in as far as I could on the horizon and I still didn't see the lake yet, only a sea of green vegetation. I'd had to hike through the forest and it took a huge chunk of time. Murray couldn't drive the van through the forest at the risk of puncturing its tires or scratching the paint. And I didn't want him to have an emotional breakdown. I needed to book it fast to get back there in time.

Something whizzed past my ear, moving so fast I couldn't tell what it was. I lowered my Binocucom and turned my head around just in time to see a spear flying right at my parachute's main chute.

"Oh, crud."

A massive hole got ripped in my only source of landscape hopping, hilariously sending me plummeting down.

I say it's hilarious because I just replaced the damn thing with a new one that I don't even want to mention the cost of. And the fact that the guys I'd just gotten done patronizing actually managed to do something right for once just because of me egging them on.

The irony of the situation makes me laugh as I fell down through the air at 9.81 m/s2.

Tucking the ripped parachute back into my backpack, I landed carefully on a branch of a tree, then squatted and sprung up into an awesome horizontal jump that cleared at least twenty feet. I touched down onto the earth and took off as fast as I could.

We'd just gone done stealing from this supposedly rich marmot who called himself Saint Marmot. He had a big ego, that's for sure—wouldn't give his riches away to the needy and as a double whammy, he stole from orphanages.

That **really** rubbed me the wrong way when I found out, and we immediately set off to snatch his Cornet, which cost millions in American dollars, so we could exchange it and give orphanages back their money. Without having that thing to flounce off, he'd become as finically dug as a politician who told the truth.

I felt my jaw line set. But he would deserve it. From all places he'd steal from orphanages, places that need money the most? That was the _most_ selfish thing I ever heard of.

And I let him know by knocking him silly and tying him to his fancy shmancy chandelier, a calling card hanging inches away from his face.

I think it's the most infuriated I've gotten with someone in a long time for personal reasons. This guy due to the fact he performed the opposite way we did. As I have said many a times before, there's no honor in stealing from ordinary people.

Especially people that didn't even have _families_.

I dimly heard a tree branch snapping above me, and I stopped when I outright heard screaming. _That's weird_, I thought as I looked up, _Was someone—_

"UNGH-!"

"-OOF!"

Suddenly something falls and lands right in the center of my back, heavily enough to knock me down cluelessly onto the ground. I wheezed, surprised as all get out. Who managed to ambush me so quickly? Certainly not one of those dumb guards. Whatever it was grunted too, and it slid off my back before I could punt it off myself. Instinct had me roll over and pull out my cane, but I soon halted, frozen. My cane was already high up in the air to smack the living daylights out of whoever it was.

Au contraire, it shook slightly in my trembling hand and my fingers lost their grip on it. As my cane clattered to the ground I took a step back, already feeling my pride wash away as I began to involuntarily breathe shallowly. My legs began shaking against my will but I can barely feel them as I move backwards.

_No way…_

As it turned out, it wasn't one of Saint Marmot's body guards; I would've happily welcomed them.

No, it was…a bird. Scarily obvious features told me it was an owl. A young one at that, but definitely an owl—and it wasn't just because it was an owl that freaked me out—it was because of its likeness of another avian I'd met.

Pure red eyes, full of innocence and curiosity (not t mention pain from the fall) watched me, not comprehending my reaction. The brow on it was, unlike the elder I'd compared it to, wasn't lowered in hate or anger; instead it was raised with friendliness.

"M' sorry, Mr." It said. He said, now that I heard the voice, "I was just tryin' to fly."

That bird looked**_exactly_** like Clockwerk.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not even kidding. I thought I was losing my mind—

Right before I killed him he said I'd never seen the last of him—was this what he meant? I mean, he was literally the single cause for that whole thing with the Klaww gang and he wasn't even alive! He affected me after his death—as I said, you couldn't put an end to hatred that strong.

It _always_ finds a way to you.

I shook my head a little; maybe that was just me being silly. I just met the kid and I'm accusing him of being a Cooper-hating jerk.

"Did you bump your head? I'm sorry." The owl said, hopping a bit closer. I think I stepped back, closely eying the 12 inch avian that looked too much like a younger killing machine before turning into a literal machine.

And I couldn't even say anything—my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. _That_ was new.

On that thought, I didn't think I was scared—just surprised, if anything.

Not to mention paranoid. I paused, thinking. Wait, why was I paranoid?

Because Clockwerk's a psychopathic death carrier and he stalked everyone in your family before you and personally arrived on your doorstep and made you an orphan…

The night when I'd first heard Clockwerk's grating voice as he personally murdered my parents was a hidden leech, buried it deep within me with the shovel of time. I was since then vehemently opposed to Clockwerk and his motives obviously, letting my decade's moderately built ego be the force that tangled with the bird's hate-filled philosophy.

I had made up my mind, long before I had even met Clockwerk again that I would no longer let anyone try to bring my fear or insecurity out of me, no matter what. Call it a side effect of being an orphan-AND a Cooper- but I realized that terror and insecurity were two gateways that your enemies could wrench open and invade your frame of mind and subconscious like viruses. Completely rip you apart, breaking your confidence bit by bit, lock stock and barrel. Consequently, they make you hasty, make you act without thinking.

Then checkmate. You're _theirs._

And of course, growing up to be what I am now, I couldn't afford that. My dad always told me that, as much as this was overused, patience was a virtue. And I know upfront that's a phrase too often taken for granted.

In conclusion, I was **highly** freaked out and a bit paranoid about the owl standing in front of me, conscious of the prospect I let the mechanical bird from the past inflict a lot of unhinged (yet still somewhat buried) terror and paranoia on me without realizing it up until that point.

Despite all the conflict in my head, I knew one thing. I wasn't staying here.

Keeping my eyes carefully on the kid bird, I stooped down on one leg and picked my cane up. He didn't move, only cocking his head to watch me, ruffling the feathers on his right wing. I straightened up, about to leave when he called, "Mister, you're not mad, are you?"

I paused, my lips making an 'o'. How old was this kid? Too young to ignore, but old enough to speak. I had to say _something_.

I gazed at the little owl and forced a smile on my face, wavering a bit when I made eye contact (Geez, he even had Clockwerk's paralyzing stare, too!), "I'm…fine. You didn't mean to…"

The owl hopped a bit further forward, and I once again took a step back. Goodness gracious, he even sounded like what Clockwerk would have—minus the cold and robotic undertone the mechanical bird once housed. And if he were a baby, not a thousand year old killing machine.

"Listen…kid, I havetogo…" I slurred, backing up to add urgency to my statement, "Sorry for…being here—"

I inwardly panicked as he screeched suddenly and very loudly, and the next thing I knew I was lying on my back on the forest floor. After getting my bearings I sighed, rolling my eyes; I must've tripped and fallen trying to get away. I slapped a hand over my eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, Cooper! This wasn't Clockwerk! It was a kid who looked freakishly like him, but still! It wasn't him.

I suddenly became aware of the kid crying. Cautiously, I pushed myself up to peek at him; he was holding his left wing limply. I looked closer; it had feathers ripped from it and looked dislocated. He must've injured it after he fell. I got up, concerned now. Good thing I was there to break his fall, or else he could've been really hurt.

I took a deep breath and pushed back my…insecurity as I walked towards him. He looked up at me and I paused, but got a hold of myself when I saw the tears in his eyes. I stared at them; he didn't have any pupils, and if that wasn't weird as heck I don't know what was. I squatted over him, and leaned in towards his wing.

"Did you break it?" I asked gently, not to patronize him.

"I think…it hurts…" He said, sounding on the verge of tears again. "I can't move it."

I frowned slightly. This wouldn't do. I stood up, dusting my hands off as I made my decision.

"Sorry kid. I'm not the one who can help you."

* * *

I climbed into the van, motioning at Bentley. "He is."

"I'm what?" Bentley asked, looking up from his dossier, and then basically having the same reaction when I saw the kid owl. I.e his mouth almost hitting the floor, everything held loosely by him falling to the ground. Ooh, I hoped his glasses weren't broken.

I tilted my head towards said owl, who was perched on my arm. "I ran into some... _company_ in the forest. Kid broke his wing trying to fly. You think you can do something about it?"

"Uh, I haven't experimented in medicine, but I do know how to patch people up," Bentley ignored his glasses as he reached for his first aid kit, still eyeing the bird. I knew he'd made the same connection that I did.

"Guys? I think I see somebody coming! Might be Saint Marmot's convoy!" Murray called from the front.

Bentley and I glanced at each other. We had to leave now. I turned my head to the owl, who hadn't said a word ever since I picked him up. "You have anyone who'll miss you here?"

He didn't look at me, keeping his head tucked in, "Nu uh, Mister. I don't have family or friends."

That actually surprised me a bit. The kid was this young with no one around him? How long had he been alone? "You wouldn't mind staying with us for awhile?" It was really our only choice at that point in time. I glanced out the window; I saw lit torches nearby, suppressing a laugh when I picked up raging coming from the foot soldiers.

"I don't have a home…so no, I wouldn't mind." I heard the same tone I used to use when I said something didn't bother me but deep down it did. For us just meeting, we sure had a lot in common…besides the surface facts.

I nodded, dropping Murray the command, "Step on it, Murray!"

* * *

I know Sly noticed. I _know_ he did.

That kid owl looked _waaaaay_ too similar to Clockwerk to not go unnoticed. I nearly couldn't believe it when I saw him with Sly the first time—thought I was losing my mind. Murray even noticed, almost wrecking when he saw the baby owl for the first time when he hopped to the front of the van.

It's really strange. Surely Clockwerk didn't have any family members? I mean, as far as we knew he didn't have children. I say that because the looks are so parallel it's frightening.

As it had been with Clockwerk before turning homicidal robot, the kid had the same red eyes, same brownish tawny color, same talons…only on an undeveloped body.

He even said that he didn't have family—by what circumstance remained unknown for now, but y'know… I had a hunch.

Not to mention, we found him in Russia, merely a hundred miles from Krak-Karov volcano.

Was it possible that he did have children, maybe only one? Now that I think, that file that Sly stole on the Fiendish Five had been outdated. Clockwerk could've easily popped out with a kid between the ten years he first took the Thievius Raccoonus and finally being killed.

I looked across the room at Sly, who had been uncharacteristically silent the entire night. I knew this was bothering him more than it was me. I could literally see the gears turning in his head as he watched the little owl sleeping nearby perched on the couch. Every now and again he would shift slightly; I suppose trying to get comfortable. I wondered what he was thinking about doing with the little guy. He couldn't have been more than four or five.

Yet, I noticed with interest, he speaks very fluently for someone so young.

"Sly?" I called, not too loudly. He didn't hear me, continuing to gaze off into space. "Sly. Sly!" _Man, he's so lost in thought he's deaf to the world!_ I thought as he continued to remain motionless, staring at the bird.

He jumped when I tapped him with one of my chair's claws. "Hm? Oh, yeah Bentley?"

I was silent for a while, reading his expression. His smile seemed genuine at first, would've fooled almost anyone else. But I knew him well enough to know when he was faking it; a real smile didn't reach his eyes. Sly was bothered about this—to what extent I didn't exactly know, but enough that he was trying to hide it.

His grin grew nervous with every second that passed by with me not saying anything, and he idly looked to the side in discomfort, "Er, Bentley?"

"You seem to have something on your mind, Sly."

"…I…uh…" I thought I saw his chest beginning to move up and down a bit faster as I waited, seeing what he would say. Sly wasn't the type to outright lie, but he also wasn't the one to delve into the recesses of his mind and admit when something was wrong. He fell silent, avoiding my eye; I wheeled over to the kid bird to check on his wing.

Out the corner of my eye I saw Sly twitch slightly when the bird shifted in his sleep. Call me crazy, but I heard panting and it wasn't from me or the bird, and Murray was in his room.

"Doesn't he remind you of anyone?" I probed casually, as I inspected the avian's wing, "In terms of appearance?"

I heard a groan and looked up, surprised to see him on his knees on the floor; he was shaking his head. "Uh, Sly?"

He didn't answer, and only staggered up and left the room quickly with his head down. Seconds later I heard the bathroom door slam shut, and I turned and watched the doorway closely for a minute until Murray came in, holding a hot dog.

"Uh, is Sly alright? He's kinda…throwing up in there." The hippo asked, taking a worried bite of his frank. I dropped my hand from the bird.

"He's what?!"

"Yeah, he's sick. I don't know why, must've been something he ate."

"Sly hasn't had anything for awhile!" I said, my mind racing-then it hit me, "Anxiety!"

"Anzi-what?"

"Anxiety! It's when you're really stressed about something."

"So Sly's stressed?" Murray looked doubtful, scratching his head, "Are you _sure_ about** that?**"

"I say that because," I motioned towards the bird, lowering my voice, "You know how he looks like… Clockwerk, right?" Murray nodded somberly, now gawking at the bird as though he would wake up and murder him with his gaze only on the spot, "I'm pretty sure that triggered a bad psychological response from Sly. Trust me, it can happen to anybody—"

"Still seems a bit farfetched to happen to Sly, of all people," Murray wrinkled his nose, "So he's so worked up he threw up?"

"Yes, exactly. See, nervous tension can build up to the point where your stomach starts producing acid. Let it get too bad, and it can cause some queasiness, which eventually leads to vomiting." I felt bad; I brought up the subject, anyway.

"Then what are we going to do about the kid? If Sly literally can't stomach the thought of being around him, what's going to happen to him? We're not gonna put him on a bus somewhere, are we?"

I looked at the ground, contemplating. The owl was still a child, a young one at that. We…could settle for putting him in an orphanage, but…that didn't feel right. It made _my_ stomach queasy thinking about it. Not all orphanages were kind and caring. Trust me, I know.

And the little guy would immediately be ruled out as being a target for bullies because of his small size. I would know that too.

But I couldn't make that decision.

"Sly found him so he decides what to do with him," I deduced, "I can't be the one to do it…"

Murray was silent for a minute, then he muttered, "I think Sly was planning on keeping him with us."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well…he has a soft spot for orphans, remember?"

"Oh…" That was definitely true. Ironically enough the mission we just finished was fueled by Sly's distaste at Saint Marmot's selfish habits. That would make sense.

Wait...hold the phone a minute—something else didn't make sense...

I suddenly found myself confused, "If Sly wanted to keep the owl with us even though he knew it's possibly Clockwerk's son, then…"

_Why was he so tense around him? I noticed that when he first appeared with the bird on his shoulder in the van, he was perfectly fine. Better than he was now. Something caused that flip-flop in his attitude. _

_Something_ else was on his mind.

And I didn't see Sly for the rest of the night.


End file.
